Sibling Rivalry
by UnicornHawthorn
Summary: If Mary had a secret past, she must have had family. What if she wasn't the only one of her family to end up, competent with a weapon? What if she had a brother... How John and Sherlock Would have found out about Mary's secret past if the whole Magnusson affair hadn't happened. Series 3 Spoilers!
1. Chapter 1

"John?" Mary stood stock still in the hallway of their north London home. No answer. She called again, "John!" He should have been home an hour or so ago but the house was silent. Slowly, Mary looked into every room in the house but found it deserted except for herself. Picking up her mobile phone, she dialled John's number. It rang several times before going to voice mail. She hung up. He never did this normally, he was always home before her on a Friday. Slightly worried, Mary picked up her phone again and called the clinic. It was Sarah who was on call. She picked up after the second ring.  
"Hey Sarah, it's Mary, John's wife. John isn't home yet, it he still at work?"  
"He left here normal time as usual Mary. Are you sure he hasn't called?" Sarah also sounded slightly stressed, though that may have been work. It was a busy clinic.  
"OK, thanks Sarah. He's probably fine. Just got waylaid or something. Bye."  
Now panicking slightly, Mary called Johns number again but still it went to voice mail She knew that it wouldn't do this if it was just off or dead. And John always made sure his phone had full charge when he left for work. Fearing the worst, Mary picked up her phone again and dialled Sherlock's number. He picked up immediately.  
"Mary?" His voice was sharp, she never normally called him.  
"Hello, Sherlock. John hasn't come home from work yet but I called the clinic, he definitely left normal time and I've called him twice but it keeps going to voice mail which it wouldn't do if it was out of charge. Have you seen him?" Mary was finding it hard to keep the panic out of her voice. Even her assassin training hadn't prepared her for this feeling. But John and Sherlock could not, no, must not know about her past.  
"No, he's not here. Is there anywhere else he could be?"  
"Not that I'm aware of, Sherlock. You're at the flat right?"  
"Yes."  
"OK Stay right there, I'm coming over." Mary hung up, picked up her phone and keys, left a note for John just in case he should return and left the house. Getting on the Bakerloo line, she was soon at 221B Baker Street. Hurriedly knocking on the door, she was let in by a rather flustered Mrs Hudson as Mary took the stairs to 221B two at a time. She burst through the door to find Sherlock standing on the sofa, phone in hand, poring over a series of maps, photos and what looked like codes pinned to the wall. He looked round when she entered.  
"How was John getting home from work today?" Sherlock seemed concerned. Or as concerned as someone like Sherlock could get really.  
"Walking. You know his route."  
"OK Let"s go." He started striding off towards the door. Mary was startled.  
"Where are we going?"  
"To find your husband... and my blogger." And, not for the first time, Mary realised how much Sherlock cared about John. How much John meant to him and how much he'd do for John. She quickly followed Sherlock out the door. Without stopping he grabbed his coat and scarf from the banister and they were out the door in no time at all.  
Slowly, they walked John's route from the clinic home, peering into every alleyway and side street along the way. They ha gotten about halfway to John and Mary's house when Sherlock stopped suddenly.  
"What shoes was he wearing this morning?"  
"Oh. Um, brown I think. The brown leather ones."  
"Ah." Sherlock was pointing to something on the ground. Mary looked closer and saw, very distinctly in the dirt, shoe prints that matched exactly to the shoes John had been wearing that morning. They led into the alleyway, Mary and Sherlock followed. About halfway down the alley, the prints stopped but showed that John had looked around him. There were other footprints here as well though and just as fresh. One set led up to right behind where John had been standing and then away, symmetrical with another pair, always staying the same length apart, the length of a body.

Mary noticed this a split second after Sherlock did. She clapped a hand to her mouth and whispered,

"Oh no..."  
Sherlock, however, was busy searching the ground for something.  
"Aha!" He exclaimed triumphantly. He had found a hypodermic needle, lying on the floor. It had obviously been dropped by John's assailants, whoever they may be. Sherlock sniffed the needle and his face turned grim.  
"That's a knock-out drug, and a very strong one at that. At the moment, most things are clear. John was walking home from work. Someone or something, for some reason, made him walk down here where he was knocked out and the assailants take off, with their man. The only things we don't know are Who or Why."  
Mary spotted something white in the far, darkest, corner. Picking it up, she found it was an envelope, addressed to Sherlock. She called him over and he took the note and held it up to the, now steadily fading, light.  
"Italian stationary, quite cheap. He's written it fast so it's a but slapdash, at best. Covered in dirt from his hands-"  
"Sherlock, shut up and open it!" Mary was getting stressed again. Sherlock tore open the envelope. A single piece of paper fell out with the word 'Check' written on it.  
"What does that mean, Sherlock?" Mary asked but Sherlock was already thinking a step ahead of her, as usual.  
"Well, presumably they're talking about the chess manoeuvre and not how to transfer a late sum of money into my bank account."  
"But isn't Check when you have the other team's king momentarily trapped or in danger." Mary was confused.  
"Exactly. These people have taken John to get to someone. Presumably me as the envelope was so clearly addressed. This has happened before, Mary. The wheel turns, history repeats itself and nothing is ever new."  
"But how are we trapped. We can still take action, still track them down and find John."  
"They have the one person in the world that matters most to us both, Mary. Right now, he could be anywhere doing anything. If you knew that if we made one wrong step they would kill him, would you take that risk?" Sherlock was right, as always. "The most we can do is find out who those people were. We need to at least try and negotiate John's release. I'll take the paper and needle over to Bart's and see what Molly makes of them. Do you want to come?"  
"What...oh...yeah, I suppose."  
Sherlock hailed a cab and within minutes they were speeding towards St. Bartholomew's Hospital. They arrived in time to find Molly Hooper, the pathologist, halfway out the door with an armful of files.  
"Hello Sherlock. I was just going-"  
"No, you're not Molly. We have a slight Problem." Molly was confused,

"But, I've got plans."  
"No you haven't, John's been kidnapped."  
"What- ... Why? ... Who by?"  
"We- I don't know, and I don't like not knowing. We found-" He pulled the hypodermic needle and the note, still in it's envelope, out of his pocket, "These at the crime scene and I need to analyse them. Can we use your equipment?" Molly still seemed confused.  
"Oh. Yeah, sure. I guess."  
"Good. I need you to get the Clinical Analysis kit out. There's still some liquid left in the needle and we need to find out exactly what it is." Sherlock swept past Molly into the lab, pulled off his coat and got to work. Molly followed him, heading towards the store cupboard to find what he needed. Mary, still standing stunned in the doorway, came fully into the room and pulled up a stool next to Sherlock.  
Almost two hours later, Sherlock finished. Picking up the microscope slide he was working on, he showed Mary and Molly.  
"That's gamma-hydroxybutyric acid they've got in there." Molly let out a soft 'Oh no' But Mary was confused. Sherlock, for once, explained what this meant.  
"It's a very strong compound of drugs, designed to completely knock out the taker for long periods of time. From the size of this needle? I'd say John could be out for about a day." Mary groaned inwardly.  
"And what about the paper?"  
"Italian, but bought in England, Greenwich in fact. Note written at scene of crime with a cheap Biro. On the whole, doesn't give us much to go on envelope not sealed so be DNA to go on."  
"So we've got nothing to go on?" Mary said flatly.  
"No. They're good this lot, as good as He was." They say in silence for a while. Until Sherlock said,

"It's getting late. Do you want to sleep at the flat tonight, I'm sure Mrs Hudson can make a bed up in Johns old room."  
"Thanks." Mary said gratefully, only now realising how tired she was. By the time they got back to 221B she was practically dead on her feet. When Mrs Hudson heard the situation, she was only too ready to make a bed up for Mary and she drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep.  
When she woke up, it was to gentle violin music, Sherlock. As she came downstairs into the living room he didn't stop playing but looked around and acknowledged her presence with a curt nod.  
"Do you want tea?" His voice was muffled by the violin clutched under his chin. Mar shook her head wordlessly. She didn't feel like eating or drinking anything at the moment. She was too numb.  
At that moment, Sherlock's phone rang. He fished it out of his dressing gown pocket and handed it to Mary to answer.  
"The caller ID says John! Sherlock. What does this mean?" There was a faint trace of hope in her voice. The violin cut off with a squeak as Sherlock strode across the room. He plucked the phone out of Mary's hand and answered it, putting it on speaker phone so she could hear but telling her to be quiet.  
"Get your phone and record this call." He whispered too her. She did, finding her phone and putting it on voice record then placing it on the table next to Sherlock's phone. A familiar voice crackled into the room.  
"Sherlock. Sherlock is that you?,"  
"John! Where are you? Are you OK? Why have they done to you?"  
"Sherlock. I am fine." Johns voice sounded as though he had literally just woken up. He probably had.  
"John? You never say 'fine'." Sherlock sounded confused. "They've for a gun to your head, haven't they? John, they won't shoot you, they need you to get to me."  
"Sherlock, how long have I been out? I only woke up a second ago."  
"I'd say about twelve, thirteen hours John. Listen-" there was the sound of John's phone being roundly grabbed and a new, harsh, unfamiliar voice filled the room, oddly polite.  
"Mr Holmes, as you may well have noticed, we have your little friend. And unless you can find him within the next twenty four hours, I may find my hand just slip on the trigger of my gun. Understood?"  
"Perfectly." Sherlock replied, equally polite and smooth. There was a click as he hung up. Mary hit stop on the voice record on her phone as Sherlock went immediately to his laptop, opened it and started typing. Looking over his shoulder, Mary could see that he was looking on maps for churches near the Docks in east London. She was confused.  
"Why are you looking at church bells in the Docklands?"  
"Mary, what could you hear in the background of that call?" When Mary looked dumbstruck, he continued, "Church bells and the sound of ships. That means they are in a warehouse or something near a docks and by a Church with bells. True, it may not be London but, given the fact that they aren't still moving, and that they know where I am and expect me to find them within twenty four hours, thus, London." He checked his laptop again. "Right. There are three Churches in that area with bells rung at least every hour, St Clement's, Bow Bells and St Mary's. all we need to do is see which one matches the pitch of the one in the call."  
"So are we going to the docklands then?"  
"What, no. I've got some of my Homeless network to find a recording of each of those bells. They should be here soon. As he spoke, there came a knock at the door.  
"Come in." Sherlock shouted. A scruffy looking girl of about 19 poked her head round the door.  
"I've for the tapes for you, Mr Holmes." She handed Sherlock a memory stick.  
"Thanks Anna." Sherlock slipped her a fifty pound note and she vanished. Sherlock plugged the memory stick into the computer and opened up the three audio files on it. He picked up Mary's phone and did something in settings to the audio so you could only hear the bells in the background of the call, not the voices. The first match they tried, St. Clements was come rely out of pitch but the bells in the call matched exactly with the Church bells of St. Mary's. Now they knew where John was, roughly.  
Sherlock picked up his phone and called someone. She could not, initially, tell who but all became clear when Sherlock said,  
"Good day to you too, dear brother mine." Mycroft. I need you to let me borrow your top secret infra-red satellite camera for an hour, or, better still, already have the photographs I need. The docklands, in particular... Yes... Of course... It's John, he's been kidnapped... Good... Oh, and Mycroft, try not to start a war, at least until John's back. It makes everything so much harder." He turned to Mary. "Mcyroft's emailed me some infra-red pictures of the docks. That way, we can see every figure there and find where John is. He opened up his email and downloaded the picture files from Mycroft. He opened them up and quickly scanned them with his eyes. Finally, he alighted on one spot and pointed it out to Mary. "There. One figure sat, maybe bound to a chair. Others clustered round. Guns in hand. That's our place Mary. That's our man."  
He was out of his chair and striding towards the door before Mary could even say but. He hailed a taxi and they both got in, headed for the docks. When they got there, Sherlock led Mary towards an old, abandoned warehouse and they bust through the door. Motioning for her to be quiet, Sherlock took Mary through a maze of corridors to a store room at the very back of the warehouse. Muffled voices came from inside. Sherlock opened the door and walked in. Mary followed. John was bound to a chair in the middle of the room. All around we're men with guns apart from one, well dressed man whom Mary found vaguely familiar and whom Sherlock was obviously addressing.  
"We did it, we solved your little problem. We found you." When the man spoke, Mary recognised him as the man from the phone.  
"Well, I never expected it to take long. Twenty four hours was far too long. You're Sherlock Holmes and of course, you'd know all about puzzle solving wouldn't you, Sister dear."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, Really short Chapter this time. Sorry, I've had lots of exams and been really busy. I am sorry, I'm trying to be able to write more frequently but it's just not possible at the moment.**

**Sorry about the formatting issues and the speech, I wrote this on word and it didn't stay in the same format when I copied it over.**

**Thank you for reading. Please review, I need tips for how to unfold the plotlines and could use some ideas. Thanks!**

In years to come, Mary would often think of the irony of this situation. Her little brother Seb, who had ruined everything when they were younger with his incessant whining had now found a way to ruin her new chance of life with John. Thinking about this often then led her to consider the events after this moment, the hour or so afterwards in which she told John and Sherlock her life story. Sherlock and John's looks of angry surprise. Cutting John free from his bindings. The silent cab ride home in which John refused to look at her an Sherlock stared with that look of mingled curiosity he always wore while he was trying to deduce the hell out of someone.  
When they had finally arrived back at 221B Baker Street, this silent party had been let in by a very much relieved (at the sight of John with them) Mrs Hudson.

It was a subdued party that had climbed the stairs up to 221B, John sat in his chair by the doors to the kitchen, Sherlock sat straight down at his computer and started typing. Mary hung back in the doorway to the hall, no longer feeling she quite belonged, given the events of the past hour or so. An awkward silence filled the room for a few minutes until John said;

"Who was that man, Mary? Was he your brother?"

Sherlock jerked his head up and began eyeing Mary almost curiously. She hesitated, caught out.

"I... He... I don't know where to start..." she began.

"Start at the very beginning Mary." Sherlock's calm, collected voice solved her dilemma.

"I... OK... Um..." Mary sighed then too a deep breath and began. "Mary Elizabeth Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone stands in Cheswick Cemetery where, five years ago, I acquired her name and date of birth. That's why I have no family or friends from before that time." Mary had a sudden mental flashback to the wedding planning. When Sherlock had commented on the lack of people on her side of the church. She paused before continuing. "I was born Amy Gabrielle Moran in 1971. In 1993, when I was in my last year at university, I was recruited to the British secret service as a sniper. My codename was Pinpoint, so called because of my unflinching accuracy even from a long distance. I worked for them for 13 years and then, 5 years ago, I was on a mission when something went badly wrong. One of our agents high up in the secret service had gone bad. I was sent to Serbia on a mission we were told would prevent civil war – to assassinate the president. As it turned out, it did not prevent civil war and actually started one and brought the entire Serbian and British secret services down on my tail. I fled and ended up exactly where they would not think to look for me. In London. Where I met you, John and in turn, Sherlock. That man is - was my younger brother Sebastian Moran." Mary took a deep breath as though to continue but thought better of it and hung her head.

"What do you mean he Was your brother, Mary?" Sherlock asked, slowly.

"I left Amy Gabrielle Moran behind when I joined the secret service. She no longer exists and so, she can't have family."

There was an awkward silence for a minute or two before Sherlock's phone rang. He picked it up with a scowl.  
"What do you want now, Brother mine?"  
Mycroft's voice answered his question sounding tired,  
"It has been made aware to the authorities in the past few hours that our country's security is facing a new threat, Sherlock. We need your help."  
"What, or rather Who is it this time, Mycroft?" Sherlock, secretly pleased that his brother was admitting to needing his help was keeping his voice flat and emotionless.  
"Moriarty."  
Mycroft's reply stunned Sherlock into silence for a moment before he regained the ability to speak,  
"But he's dead, Mycroft. Shot himself in the head, you saw the body, I saw the body-"  
"Well not him as such, dear brother. His network, they're back."

At this Sherlock was angry, had he spent two years officially dead dismantling Moriarty's network for nothing?  
"Who's controlling them?" He asked.  
"Apparently, he had an assistant. A partner in crime, if you will. His equivalent of your friend John." Sherlock frowned at this jibe at John but said nothing. Mycroft continued. "A man who goes by the name of Sebastian Moran."


End file.
